I’ve always found her warm and glowing

tiptoeing with a soft sunny smile,

graceful in her orange breath,

 in cloudless, blue sari.

She talked to me

in exotic bird voice.

Her running steps in cricket field

that came to us through radio

were our heartbeats.

I’ve always loved her for that.

On one hand she held Nabanna*

On the other an earthen pot

filled with jaggery.

Her yellow mustard-field shawl

swayed in the cool north wind.

She has changed with time, sadly.

Now she pricks me with memories

till I bleed badly.

I love her still for all she was.

*Nabanna meaning New Crop is a Bengali harvest celebration. Several music and dance forms have grown out of the rituals accompanied with the festival: Wikipedia

Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – Winter my dear would be cold without warm memories – [37] over @ A Dash Of Sunny


Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United